


Together

by counterheist



Series: nothing special [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, F/M, M/M, kind of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The white noise in Antonio’s brain is falling down his face as tears and he doesn’t understand why Lovino didn’t just <i>tell</i> him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

He’s cooking when Antonio walks up behind him, footsteps slow. Lovino knows it’s Antonio, because who else would it be in their apartment at two in the morning? Who else could it be? Who else would stand so close when Lovino has both a spatula and a scalding hot pan at hand, ready to dole out pain to anyone who disturbs him?

It has to be Antonio. Lovino recognizes the thick, hiccupping timbre of his voice anyway. He doesn’t like that it’s so familiar, but it is, and Lovino knows that’s what Antonio sounds like when he’s crying.

The arms that circle around Lovino’s waist are strong and solid. They’ve supported him time and again. And now Antonio’s crying. Crying softly, hiccups abating, although Lovino can still feel the vibrations in Antonio’s throat on the back of his neck. He can feel every breath Antonio takes.

Lovino can feel every tear that slides down his skin, underneath his collar, uncomfortable, only to end soaked up by the fabric of his shirt. A shirt Antonio gave him for his birthday. He’d been crying then too, joy. Lovino thinks, in the small portion of his mind he allows to process anything other than the food on the stove, that Antonio cries too much.

“I heard.” A thrill runs up Lovino’s spine and suddenly the portion of his brain thinking about vegetables is much smaller than he’d like it to be. “About Lotte.”

 **Fuck**. “Who told you?”

Antonio’s arms are still loose around Lovino’s middle, his lips still ghost across the crook of Lovino’s neck, and his eyes are still crying. “Your brother.”

Lovino wants to explain himself, wants to shove Feliciano out a window, wants to keep cooking. He controls himself enough to only do the latter and lets the silence last as long as he is able. “Little bastard.”

Antonio doesn’t accuse, even when he really wants to. It’s one of the reasons Lovino allowed himself to even _entertain_ the thought that he’d fallen in love. Love. It’s a word that scares him even now. It scares him more that Antonio is standing there, cold, calm and crying. It’s not how Antonio is meant to be.

“When were you going to tell me?”

He cannot answer. Mostly because both already know the answer would have been ‘Never’ or ‘As far in the future as I was able to keep it.’ Lovino is lazy, they both know it so well. Antonio, too, pushes things off until the back of his mind is more of a list of commands than he’d ever like ( _Take out the trash. Pick up milk at the store. Ask Lovi why_ ).

So instead of answering, Lovino lets his surroundings consume his attention. The hiss of hot oil. The whir of the ceiling fan. Antonio’s arms. Antonio’s tears. Antonio’s bags, packed and ready in the hallway. He must have left telling Lovino he was going until the very last minute. Held off on confrontation until the last possible moment, savoring the calm and quiet. It is so like Antonio that it hurts. Hurts in Lovino’s gut, Antonio’s arms crossed above.

Lovino flicks his head towards the bags in the hallway. “You’re leaving?”

The tears are starting to dry on his neck. The sensation is strange, salty sticky, and Lovino wishes Antonio would laugh and lick them away and go back to bed like he was supposed to hours ago. Lovino hates it when Antonio gets emotional ( _stupid, because Antonio is always bursting with some sort of emotion_ ) _._ Antonio is beyond emotional now. “I can’t stay.”

Lovino huffs a short strong breath out his nose. “I’m not letting you go.”

It’s a silly thing to say, because for all Lovino’s posturing, it’s not like he controls everything Antonio does. It’s not like he controls anything. Antonio knows this too, even though he only rarely acknowledges it.

He takes a deep breath, squeezes his arms so tight Lovino is afraid Antonio is going to tear him in two, and stands there. It takes a moment for Lovino to realize Antonio is savoring the moment, but those moments are the same and Antonio sighs and steps away before Lovino can do his own savoring. Lovino feels colder once Antonio is gone, even though he’s standing two feet away and Lovino is in front of a hot stove.

It’s the principle of the thing.

“She’s my _sister_ , Lovi.”

Lovino doesn’t let the pounding in his chest sway his words and carefully turns off the burner. He hadn’t really been hungry. “Foster sibling. Doesn’t count.”

“It counts to me.” Antonio takes slow steps towards the hallway while Lovino is frozen, and takes the strap of a backpack in hand. He’s stopped crying, but the frowning’s already begun and Lovino suddenly finds himself again. “I don’t know when—”

Lovino cuts him off with a spectacular kiss. One of his finest, and Lovino prides himself on his ability.

“Stop trying,” Antonio stumbles backwards, losing his grip and almost tripping over his bags, “to,” Lovino thinks about grinning in triumph like Antonio often does when he pulls this shit, but that’s not actually a useful move for trying to get your tongue in someone’s mouth so he doesn’t, “mmf, distract me Lovi.”

They end up with Antonio pressed against a wall, Lovino flush against him in the dim space. The kitchen light is the only illumination in the entire apartment, unless lonely streetlight seeping in through cheap blinds counts and Lovino doesn’t think so, so it doesn’t.

“Shut up.” He goes for Antonio’s belt while pressing soft kisses along the side of Antonio’s face. “Fucking emotional idiot.”

Antonio gives a soft, humorless laugh. “So romantic.” But he doesn’t do anything to stop Lovino or Lovino’s hands. Because even if this isn’t the time or the place, Antonio needs someone, anyone. And Lovino knows ‘someone, anyone’ is a silly code for ‘Lovino Vargas. Now.’ “You’re crying too.”

Lovino scowls, even though it’s true, even though the only seasonings on the vegetables cooling on the stove are his own tears. “Am not.”

Antonio gulps, because Lovino’s hands are done with his belt, are working on unbuttoning his shirt, and Lovino’s mouth has switched to sucking on his collarbone. “You… you are.”

Sometimes, Antonio is right and Lovino is blatantly lying, and Lovino knows this is one of those times because he sees dark little blue circles on Antonio’s shoulder, proof that Lovino is less composed than he is pretending to be. He ignores that he’s staining Antonio’s shirt with his own tears and continues taking them both to another situation, somewhere far away.

“I said shut up already.”

With that, Antonio really does stop talking and Lovino is glad because he hates having to listen to a fucking running commentary while he’s trying to give head, dammit. His own breath shaking, Lovino trusts his ability and slowly, carefully, kisses his way down Antonio’s chest as he moves from standing, to slouching, to a full, comfortable kneel.

He hates being uncomfortable while doing this, because if his head is still going to be conflicted about the act, his knees might as _damn_ well be comfortable.

Antonio’s still not talking and Lovino is still grateful when he’s face-to-face with bright red briefs he may or may not have given as a gift two Christmases before. Lovino’s hands rub softly up and down Antonio’s legs, stretched long, propped apart because he knows what’s coming ( _no one, if Lovino doesn’t just do it already_ ). Lovino’s heart beats steadily, and doesn’t care that it’s ironic that they’d spent half of that Christmas at mass and family dinners and the other half in bed, furiously proving to themselves that they were so much more to each other than ‘Antonio from work’ and ‘you remember Lovino, Romolo’s grandson from down the block!’

Whenever Lovino says that sex is a cheap gift, Antonio always laughs and says it isn’t. Lovino finally knows what Antonio has been saying now that he’s on his knees, desperately trying to keep Antonio from the door.

Breathe. He can do this.

For all that he prolongs getting there, Lovino starts too quickly and almost chokes himself. He doesn’t think Antonio notices, though, because both of his hands are fisted tight in the loose material of his pants and his red eyes are squeezed shut and he’s harder than he should be, given the circumstances.

But Lovino doesn’t want to think about the circumstances either.

Instead he splays his hands wide on the corners of Antonio’s hips and pulls, because it’s creepy with Antonio standing stock still, unhappy, expression pained, not _participating_. Lovino pulls, and it jolts Antonio out of something, because a few seconds later there are hands in Lovino’s hair and Antonio is no longer standing quite straight and thrusting is something Lovino can work with.

Naturally he needs his hands for that work, so off they come from Antonio’s hips and they join Lovino’s mouth in making Antonio’s cock do what Lovino wants it to. Namely, make Antonio think about Lovino, and only Lovino, and not Lotte or leaving. Lovino’s got a mouth that some people would call big, but that Lovino just likes to call ‘good at what it does.’ And it is, because Antonio’s not even crying anymore. He’s digging his heels in the carpet and rubbing small circles on Lovino’s scalp, but he’s not looking at the door.

The only person in the hall crying is Lovino, and Lovino is alright with that. His tears can season this too, and he tastes salt and Antonio as he sucks and licks, licks and nips. Normally he would tease too, almost bite down, promise pain but never deliver. The control is enough to get Lovino aching on a normal day.

This isn’t a normal day, and Lovino’s not doing this for himself, he’s doing this for the both of them because he needs someone, anyone, too ( _which is always a code for ‘Antonio you stupid idiot. NOW.’ It might as well be his name after so long_ ).

Lovino closes his own eyes, sighs, and swallows when Antonio comes. The hands in his hair are holding a little too tightly, and the way Antonio’s thrown his head back might have left a dent in the drywall. But Lovino will forgive him, for now.

He lets the cock slip out of his mouth slowly, and gives it a little kiss before gently prying Antonio’s hands out of his hair. He holds onto them for a second and doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.

All he hears is breathing ( _it’s all he’s been hearing since he told Antonio to shut up, and it’s strange. This is the quietest they’ve been since college dorm rooms. Lovino doesn’t like it, even though he brought it on_ ).

“I forgot.” A little dazed himself, Lovino looks up and meets Antonio’s soft eyes. “She was your first love.”

Lovino can’t read Antonio’s expression. He wants to hit it away with tight fists. Step on it. Force it to tell him what’s going on in Antonio’s head. Because even though what he’d said was technically true, it doesn’t have any bearing on the present. It doesn’t matter. He needs Antonio to know that. But this is Antonio’s day for stupidity.

Sliding down the wall, Antonio meets Lovino on the floor, tired. “Do those ever really go away?” He holds out his arms, no longer tense, and Lovino lets himself be held even though the question irks him. The embrace is different than before: it’s firm and aware and Lovino hopes that means that he’s changed something.

“What do you think?” He knocks his head lightly back against Antonio’s face. When they had been kids, never quite friends, Lovino had broken Antonio’s nose that way.

“I think you still love her.” Before Lovino can say anything, before he can explain or deny, Antonio smiles and continues. “You love a lot more people than you’d like people to know, Lovi.”

“No I don’t.” Feliciano, Willem, Lotte too... Lovino has a pretty big family to love now, even though he does it grudgingly and most of the family is surrogate. And maybe the bastard has finally gotten that. Lovino leans back into the hug, maybe, and stares at the fan in the kitchen, turning, turning, turning.

Antonio's still smiling.“I’m sorry.” And because Antonio is an idiot, he probably means 'for ruining your food' and not 'for worrying you unnecessarily because I am an overly emotional idiot' like he should. 

Lovino lets it go and wipes his hand on Antonio’s thigh. Satisfied that that’s as clean as it’s going to get unless he gets up to wash it, he rubs at his eyes. He’s stopped crying too. “The last thing they need is for you to race down to the hospital and spend the whole night annoying the fuck out of the nurses.” Never mind that Lovino’s real fear involves an accident on the way and a phone call induced heart attack. “She’s in surgery right now. There’s nothing you can do.”

Antonio’s face is back at the crook of Lovino’s neck, except this time his breathing is even and his eyes are dry. “You still could have told me.”

And what, watch him panic his way to the emergency room himself? ‘Sorry Wim, I let Toni break his neck so Lotte wouldn’t be lonely in post-op?’ “We’ll go in the morning.”

“Together?”

Breaking the idiot’s nose is _really_ tempting, because Lovino can feel that grin opening up against his skin. “Stupid” (" _Of course"_ ). But Antonio’s arms are familiar again, and Lovino is warm and tired and maybe now he can get some rest. Pushing his worries into the tiny portion of his mind he allows for that sort of thing ( _Oh God, **Lotte**_ ), Lovino lets go, and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo… :D
> 
> I’d leave it like this, but if anyone wants what was going on plain, here’s alterna-header at your service:
> 
>  **Title:** Together ( _Duh_ )  
>  **Rating:** PG-17 ( _ish_ )  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Romano/Spain, implied Romano had a huge crush on Belgium when he was small, mention of Veneziano, Rome and the Netherlands  
>  **Warnings:** Human AU, angst, kind of sex, twist ending, author is a jerk  
>  **Summary:** Belgium’s in the hospital because of an accident. Spain finds out, cries a little, questions Romano for not telling him about it earlier, cries some more. Romano makes sure the idiot doesn’t kill himself on the way to the hospital / annoy the fuck out of everyone in the waiting room, by delaying him ( _while crying himself_ ). Via blowjob.
> 
> Also: I’m getting closer to outright smut, slowly. Tell me how that section went, by-the-by. If it sucks ( _ha_ ) or is too purple/melodramatic. For future reference and all. Re-reading that section, I’m strangely proud I was able to get so far without really writing anything porny OR fading to black. Introspection wins as always.
> 
> Double also: This was only supposed to be as long as “All I Ask of You.” Blast.
> 
> Triple also: It was supposed to be short because it was supposed to be a sit-down angst exercise for Ricette d’amore, which is turning into my new ‘kicking and screaming’ fill, even though it doesn’t even have France in it. Argh. I swear I’m getting that next part out before it’s been 3 legit months but first I need to complain some more. Harumph. Bitchmoanbitch. Hmf… Yeah. Feel a bit better now.
> 
> Quadruple Also: You don’t know _how_ many times I stopped a section, re-read it and realized I’d accidentally changed to past tense halfway through. Damn it’s annoying having to go back through and change all the verbs. _Reeeaally_ a mood killer there.
> 
> Pentuple Also = EDIT: Changed some little details to try and make my twist ending clearer. If you can't find 'em, I'm not pointing 'em out.
> 
> Sextuple Also: Lotte = Belgium. Wim = the Netherlands. It’s short for Willem.
> 
> ANOTHER EDIT: I was going to add some more clarification here, but screw it, if I've got enough ideas for a page of notes then I've certainly got enough ideas to just write some more of these guys. That'll probably be more interesting anyway! So yeah, I think I'll add some more to their story. I mean, everything'll be able to stand alone since there's nothing special to this 'verse and that's actually a decent name. Hm. Ah, right, okay, it's back of the back burner but expect to see more. 'Cause I heart thought and emotion and when the plot's so simple/small, that's what's most important.


End file.
